Fine Brandy
by Mez
Summary: Charley touches Stoker's heart and he has to make a painful choice. (Completely rewritten, start from the beginning.)
1. The Arrival

**Pre-reading babble.** My thanks go to KLCtheBookworm and Paperkat.  The story would never have been finished without them.

_This story takes place before "Caveat Mentor" in the BMFM timeline._

**Disclaimer.** I don't own any of the characters from BMFM, nor do I make any profit from this story yadda yadda. Any character here not mentioned in the series is my own creation, unless otherwise indicated. Feel free to use them, but do let me know, and let others know where to find them. Otherwise, just read and enjoy. Cheers, Mez.

Morning, this one's for you.

The wall behind Stoker exploded.  He ducked and ran through the flying debris.  Laser bolts screamed past him as the Death Squad opened fire. Beakers and test tubes rained down and smashed on the floor, adding broken glass to the other hazards of the half-destroyed laboratory.  He dived behind a filing cabinet and heard Rimfire cry out.  Stoker glanced around the edge of the cabinet to see where Rimfire was.  He saw Rimfire's legs disappear behind a desk and frowned at the bloody trail on the floor.

"You ok, kid?" Stoker yelled over the sounds of the fire-fight.

A Plutarkian came around the corner of the L-shaped room into his sights and Stoker fired automatically. The Plutarkian dropped; dead or alive, Stoker had no idea. He heard swearing from Rimfire's direction.

"Damn! Shot clipped my knee, I can't put any weight on it."

Stoker grinned and let loose a barrage of shots.  He took advantage of the brief respite from enemy fire and flung himself across the room to join Rimfire.  He made it behind the desk just before a flurry of return fire blazed across the intervening space. He sent a volley back to the source.

Rimfire tore off his shirt and tied it tightly around his knee. Stoker kept the squad at bay with periodic fire.  He scanned the room, looking for a quick exit.

"So much for a fast in-and-out raid," said the older mouse, chuckling.

Rimfire opened his mouth to reply when a grenade flew over the desk and bounced at their feet.  Stoker grabbed Rimfire by his scruff and ran.

Bolts of energy screamed around him as he dragged Rimfire across the floor.  Rimfire cursed but Stoker wasn't about to stop.  He heard, rather than felt the blast as it caught him and flung him across the room and into blackness.

In the Last Chance Garage, Charlene "Charley" Davidson had just turned off the downstairs light and was walking up the stairs to bed when she heard a low hum. A sudden flash of light cast dark shadows on the wall in front of her.  Charley froze.  She moved stealthily back down the stairs.  Images of various ruffians that she had faced rose in her mind and she looked around for a weapon.  She grabbed a vase from the table in the hall.  Not much, but better than nothing.  She slipped down the hall and peered around the corner into the garage.

A bulky figure crouched on the floor in the middle of the garage, propped up on its hands and one knee, swearing quietly and viciously.  Another very still figure lay behind it.  Charley raised the vase.

"Alright, scum! Get out of here!" she shouted as she flipped on the light. The figure on its knees looked up at her and smiled sheepishly.  "Hey Charley, a little help here?"

"Rimfire?"  She put the vase down on top of a toolbox and rushed across to him. Rimfire sat up as she approached, and began to untie what looked like his shirt from around his knee. Charley reached down to help him.

"I got it, Charley. Check on Stoke for me, will you?"

Charley nodded and moved over to Stoker, who was lying face down beside Rimfire. She rolled him onto his back, grunting with the effort. One side of his face was sticky with blood and as she parted the fur, she saw a long gash near his temple. 

"What happened?" she said.

"We bounced off a wall," grunted Rimfire, grimacing as he prodded his knee. He glanced at Stoker. "He ok?"

"I don't know." Charley glanced at Rimfire's bloody knee. "I'm going to call the guys. Hang on for a second."

Charley moved quickly towards the radio but halfway there, changed her mind and headed for the kitchen.  Her first-aid kit sat on a shelf in easy reach.  She jogged back to Rimfire, trying to remember if she had restocked it recently. 

"See what you can clean up, ok?" said Charley, dropping the kit beside Rimfire and walking back to the radio. 

"Charley calling the biker mice.  Charley calling the biker mice.  Are you there, guys?"

"Babe!  Couldn't last five minutes without me, huh?"

Charley rolled her eyes.

"We're here, Charley-girl," said Throttle in his smoky voice.  "What's up?  Trouble?"

"Visitors.  I have Rimfire and Stoker in my garage, in poor shape.  Can you come back?"

"We-all will be there soon, Charley ma'am," said Modo firmly.

Charley ducked down the hall and into the bathroom.  She grabbed some clean towels and filled a bowl with warm water.  When she returned to the garage, Rimfire was tearing into a pack of sterile swabs.  He grinned at her.

"All ready, nurse Charley?" he teased.

Charley poked her tongue at him and knelt down beside Stoker.  She folded a towel and placed it under Stoker's head before wetting the corner of another towel and trying to clean some of the blood from Stoker's fur. She was in the wrong position however, so she moved around behind him and placed his head on her lap. She gently cleaned the blood from around the wound, her fingers exploring the extent of the damage. She glanced over at Rimfire and noticed him examining his knee with a pensive expression.

"Is it bad?"

"It's not good.  Messy," he said, moving his knee and wincing. "Ouch."

Charley heard the roar of the bikes in the distance.

"That was quick," said Rimfire.

"They'd only left a few minutes before you arrived." 

The garage doors opened and the bikes roared in and slid to a halt. Modo was first off, moving quickly to his nephew's side. Throttle crouched down beside Charley and Stoker. Vinnie stood between them, bending down to examine Rimfire's knee.

"Nice mess ya got there, kid," Vinnie said, peering interestedly at the wound.

"Thanks," said Rimfire dryly.

Modo glared at Vinnie, grabbed the swabs from Rimfire and began cleaning the bloody wound.

"So what happened?" said Throttle.

"Well, we ran a quick raid on the local Plutarkian base. Unfortunately there was a- ow- Death Squad in residence..."

"A what?" asked Charley.

"A Death Squad," said Throttle, fingers probing the bloody wound on Stoker's head. He straightened up, wiping his hands on a towel. "Plutark's best forces.  Military training and bio-enhancements, they're a cut above the regular soldiers. They're built for base raids, cleaning out "unwanteds" from an area."

"Unwanteds such as ourselves," Vinnie said.

"Lucky for us there aren't many of them," rumbled Modo. 

"Lucky, all right. They know exactly where the weak points in a base's defences are. Freedom fighter bases are always targets for a death squad," Throttle said, frowning.

"So what happened then?" said Modo.

"Well, we got trapped in the lab and my knee got hit.  Someone lobbed a grenade at us and we had to run for it.  We got caught in the blast and Stoker took a hit to the head when we smacked into the wall.  I couldn't carry him, I could barely move myself.  So I dragged us to the nearest transport booth and we zapped out."

"But why here?" said Throttle. "Not that we don't like to see you, kid, but why didn't you go back to base?"

Rimfire grinned lopsidedly.  "Well, the truth is...these were the only coordinates I could remember at the time."

Vinnie and Throttle burst out laughing. Modo yanked his nephew's ear.

"Ow!  Hey, look, I don't exactly use those things every day, you know."

"They'll be wondering where you are at base," said Throttle.

"Yeah, I know."

"Guys," Charley interrupted. Stoker blinked and opened his eyes.  He looked dazedly up at Charley, a half-smile on his face.

"Hey there," said Charley softly.

"Def'n'tly th' way t' w'ke up," he slurred. He closed his eyes and lost consciousness again.

"That's it?" said Vinnie. He crossed his arms. "You'd think he could put a little more effort in."

"Not his best performance, that's for sure." Throttle glanced at the two injured mice. "We can't really move them, Charley-girl. Got any ideas?"

"I've already thought about that. Put Rimfire upstairs in the spare room and Stoker in my bed. I'll move onto the couch for a few days."

Throttle frowned. "We can't ask you do that, Charley."

"Yes, you can. And I'll fit on there a lot better than any of you big lugs would."

"Too true," chuckled Throttle. "Alright guys, let's get this plan in motion."

"You're really missing the action, aren't you?" said Vinnie, bending down to help Modo with Rimfire.

"It's driving me insane. If Limburger doesn't do something in the next 24 hours, I may have to get a hobby."

Stoker awoke with a pounding headache. He grimaced and rubbed his forehead, trying to relieve the pain. Cool hands brushed across his brow and he opened his eyes wide in surprise, to find Charley smiling down at him. Stoker took one of her hands in his and brushed her fingers across his lips.

"Hey there, Beautiful."

"Hello yourself," said Charley, seated on the edge of the bed. "How's the head?"

"Must have been a hell of a party."

"So I heard." Charley said, smiling.  She reached over to something Stoker couldn't see and brought a cloth and a bottle into view. Stoker watched curiously as she stained a corner of the cloth yellow with something from the bottle before pressing it against his temple.

"What's...ow!" he said as his wound began to sting. He grabbed the cloth from her and held it against the wound. "Blasted antiseptic"

"Don't be such a baby," Charley teased.

Stoker smiled up at her. Her green eyes were bright and her expression mischievous. She brushed a hand across his forehead again, and the pain disappeared where her cool fingers brushed his fur. Stoker was suddenly achingly aware of how long it had been since he'd spent time with this beautiful redhead, or any woman, for that matter.

"Why is it that the only women I meet these days are nursing me back to health?"

Charley laughed and Stoker was briefly fascinated by the way her hair flowed across her shoulders as she moved. He smiled at her again and was rewarded with the attention of a pair of intense green eyes.

"How are those uncultured louts treating you?"

"Much the same. They've finally learned not to put holes in my walls, though educating them took a lot of effort."

Stoker chuckled, then grimaced as a wave of pain coursed through his skull. The cool hands were once again on his brow, stroking away the hurt. Stoker took a breath to say that he was fine and that Charley probably had more important things to do, but the gentle, caressing fingers robbed him of speech. He closed his eyes and relaxed as Charley gently massaged his headache away. Somewhere along the way he drifted off to sleep.

"Well, we could call you Long John Silver," Charley said the next day, watching Rimfire test his mobility on the pair of crutches she had procured for him.

"Who?" chorused the mice.

"Never mind."

Rimfire leaned on his crutches and grinned at Charley.

"Ready for action, ma'am!" he quipped, ripping off a snappy salute and dropping one of the crutches. He grabbed at it with his tail and managed not to fall over.

"Yeah, I can see you're really battle-ready there, kid," chuckled Throttle.

Rimfire hobbled over to the couch, dropping awkwardly into it beside Stoker.  "Better than the coach, anyway," he said.

Stoker opened one eye and glared at Rimfire. "Take you anytime, punk."

Rimfire opened his mouth to reply when Vinnie's excited voice cut into the conversation.

"Hey guys, check it out!" Vinnie turned the volume up on the television as Tara Diddle, Chicago's most prominent newshound, appeared on the screen.

"I'm standing on the site of Chicago's old sulphur mine. The mine was abandoned in 1934 during the Great Depression, and was never reopened. Earlier today, Chicago businessman Lawrence Limburger announced he will be reopening the mine, a move that will create many new employment opportunities for the people of Chicago and increase the economic viability of our fair city."

"Ha! Employment opportunities for new goons, more like!" snorted Vinnie.

"I knew that stinkfish was up to something! Let's ride!" shouted Throttle, dashing for his bike.

Charley looked dubious. "Sulphur? Why would he want sulphur? I mean, sure, it's a mineral..."

"The stinkiest one there is," said Vinnie, pulling on his helmet, "fitting for a low-life stinkfish like Limburger!"

"Let's ROCK!" shouted Modo.

Throttle stared at him in amazement.

"What, I don't get to do the battle-cry now and then?"

"Come ON!," said Vinnie impatiently.

"Er, right. And, er, ride!" said Throttle.

Charley waved, unseen, as the three bikes roared off into the quiet streets.

Stoker watched Rimfire as he attempted to pace on his crutches, then looked through the door into the garage where Charley was working.  Rimfire flopped into a chair and sighed.  Stoker smiled gingerly, wincing as the skin on his temple pulled against the dressing. 

"How can you just sit there?" Rimfire complained.

Stoker shrugged one shoulder.  "What else am I supposed to do?"

Rimfire moved restlessly in the chair.  "I don't know.  Get on the radio or something.  Find out what's going on."

"Relax, kid. They'll be fine. They know what they're doing."

On cue, Throttle's voice came through the radio.

"All clear, Charley girl, we're coming home."

"Hot dogs for the heroes of the galaxy!" crowed Vincent.

Charley walked back into the living room, wiping her hands on a rag.  "Rimfire, you have no faith."

"He's got faith, just no patience," said Stoker. 

Charley laughed and headed into the kitchen.  Stoker closed his eyes, hoping that would ease the pounding in his head.

Ten minutes later the three bikes roared into the garage. Stoker winced and opened one eye. Vinnie leapt off his bike, tore off his helmet and hurled it into a corner, where it knocked over a stand of tools.  Charley poked her head out of the kitchen and frowned at the white mouse as he dashed into the living room.

"Whipped tail from here to Plutark! AWOOOOOHOOOO! The baddest mammajamma in the galaxy! And not a scratch on me!" He held out his arms, clearly admiring the unblemished white fur. "How about a kiss for the victor?" he said, waggling his eyebrows at Charley.

"In your dreams, Vinnie!" she snapped, and walked past him to pick up her tools.

 Vinnie grinned, unabashed, and dashed for the kitchen where his bro's were already demolishing the hotdogs and root beer, with no regard for table manners.

Stoker opened the other eye and sat up. He watched, frowning slightly, as they ate.

Throttle noticed his gaze and held up a hotdog. "Mmn rph nffrm?" he said, mouth full.

"No," said Stoker.

"You bet!" said Rimfire, hobbling into the kitchen to join the feast.

Stoker winced again as Vinnie slammed his rootbeer onto the table.  His head definitely wasn't up to a serious celebration.  He pushed himself to his feet and walked through the garage to the alley outside.

The air was cooler here and a light wind ruffled his fur.  He heard a rattle and turned to look back into the garage.

Charley was kneeling on the floor, picking up the tools that Vinnie had knocked over earlier.   Stoker leaned against the doorframe, watching her.  Charley finished picking up her tools and then wiped a stray lock of hair off her forehead with a very dirty hand, leaving a black smear across her pale skin.  She got to her feet and picked up the toolbox.  As she straightened up, she caught his eye.

"What's wrong, Stoke?"

"Nothing." Stoker smiled. "Just thinking." Charley smiled back at him and went to work on her truck.  Stoker watched her for a while, until a resounding crash from the direction of the kitchen drove him outside again.


	2. Battle plans

Charley turned over on the couch. Self-sacrifice was all very well, but the couch was a little too hard for her tastes. She punched her pillow into a poofier shape and tried to defy the pale morning light ghosting through the high window. It wasn't hard and she soon slipped back into dreamland.

When she next woke, the light was streaming in and the scent of food was heavy in the air. Curious, Charley sat up, shaking the night-time tangles out of her hair and craning around to look into the kitchen. There were definite clattering sounds in there. The smell she couldn't define, but it wasn't unpleasant. Which meant it probably wasn't Vinnie in there. She walked over to the door and looked in.

Stoker had his back to her and was fiddling with something on the stove. He was only half dressed; wearing his old army pants and gun belt with the holster strapped down.  Charley smiled and hoped her hair wasn't as messy as his, although it probably was. She ran her fingers through it quickly and winced as they caught on some tangles. "Morning, Stoker," she said, stepping into the kitchen.

Stoker turned and smiled at her. "Hey there, Beautiful. Sleep well?"

"Well enough.  How is your head feeling?"

"Good as new." 

Charley peered dubiously into the pot he was stirring. "What is it?"

"Breakfast."

"I didn't know you could cook."

"Bachelors learn to cook, or starve."

Charley smiled and looked around at the clean kitchen. All the implements were piled neatly in the sink. "I didn't know you could clean, either."

Stoker chuckled. "I've lived with enough women to pick up the gist of it. Besides, women tend to get particular about that sort of thing," he teased.

"Someone tell me that's food," said Rimfire from the living room.

"It's food," replied Stoker, opening cupboards at random. "Where are your plates, Beautiful?"

"Sit down, I'll get them" said Charley, retrieving plates from the cupboard.

Rimfire lurched in on his crutches and flopped into a chair.  "Pwoof! Can't wait to get off these things."

"Cramping your style, kid?" teased Stoker.

"You're bright and bushy this morning. How's the head?"

"Working just fine."

"Well, that'll be a change."

Charley smiled at their wrangling and sat down. Stoker dished up a healthy portion of greyish white gloop to each of them and picked up his spoon.

"So what is it?" Charley asked.

"I think the best translation is porridge."

"Porridge?"

"Staple food," said Rimfire, tasting it. "Got any sweetener?"

Charley passed over the sugar bowl and watched, appalled, as both mice covered the mixture with an excessive amount of sugar. She reached into the fridge. "Milk?"

Rimfire took the bottle curiously and sniffed the contents. He poured some over the sugary mass, obviously classifying the white liquid as 'food substance'.

Stoker did the same then passed the bottle back to her. He tasted the contents of his bowl. "Edible."

Charley was much more circumspect with her sugar application, but liberal with the milk. She tasted the resulting mixture warily, but to her surprise, it turned out to have a pleasantly nutty taste. Rimfire had inhaled his serve and Stoker was making decent inroads to his portion. Charley ate steadily and listened to the conversation.

"So what now, coach?" said Rimfire.

"Now we figure out how to get home again."

"What, we can't just…oh," said Rimfire.

Charley nodded to herself. They had no sub-space communications equipment down here; only a receiver. They could hear if someone called, but the modular system that she used to talk to the boys when they were out didn't have the power to reach Mars. Rimfire had obviously reached that conclusion, judging by the look of chagrin on his face.

"Our best bet is either to sneak into Limburger's tower and use his Transporter, or to sneak into Limburger's tower and use his communications equipment." Stoker said. He grinned toothily, suddenly reminding Charley of Vinnie. "Either way should be fun."

The three of them were lingering over coffee when the roar of the bikes shattered the morning peace.

"Hey there doll face! Did'ya miss me?"

Charley rolled her eyes at Vinnie's usual morning greeting.

"Now how could she miss you, punk? Your ego is visible from Mons Olympus, even if your skinny body gets mistaken for a broom handle," interjected Stoker.

Vinnie spluttered into the general laughter.  "Yeah, well, you…," he stuttered.

"Great comeback, bro," sniggered Modo.

"So what's the plan, Coach?" said Throttle, still chuckling.

"The plan is, we sneak into Limburger Tower today and see what he's got that we can use."

"Sneak? SNEAK? Biker mice do NOT sneak," said Vinnie, throwing his head back and posing.

"Well, not with you around, anyway; they'd hear your mouth flapping in the wind be-OOF!" said Stoker, as Vinnie crash-tackled him to the ground.

"What exactly are we looking for?" asked Throttle, turning to Rimfire.

"A way to communicate with Mars. We're a little stranded, in case you hadn't noticed."

Throttle grimaced. "No, really, it had completely escaped my notice before now."

Charley sighed. She knew the boys felt isolated down here. With no way for them to contact Mars, they had to wait for communications from main base, which were few and far between. She could build them a transmitter, no problem, but keeping their transmissions undetected by SETI was beyond her; she didn't have access to Limburger's resources.

"All right, you know what I mean," said Rimfire. "Somehow, we've got to get a message out. I don't know what the coach has planned," they both glanced over at Stoker, still wrestling with an irate Vinnie, "but whatever we need, you can bet Limburger has it."

Charley grunted as she wrestled with the nut holding the PVC valve in place. It felt like it was glued on! She had been struggling with it for five minutes and it hadn't budged an inch. She leaned on the side of the truck for a moment and wiped the sweat from her brow. One more try; if it didn't work it was coffee time. She gritted her teeth and strained hard. Was that...yes, it was moving! Finally! She felt the nut slowly loosen as she worked at it.

"Hey, need some help there, babe?"

A white-furred hand came into her view and flipped the wrench easily, sending the nut spinning into the corner of the garage. The sudden lack of tension sent her off balance and she banged her knuckles on the carburettor. Her feeling of triumph vanished in a second.

"Vinnie!" she snapped, tearing off her glove and rubbing her bruised knuckles.

"What?" he said, looking innocent. "Just helpin' ya, babe. You would have been there all day if it weren't for me." He grinned broadly, waiting for praise. "I'm always ready to help a lady in distress."

"Well that's just great, but I wasn't IN distress! I had that nut almost off!"

Vinnie snickered, his expression plainly disbelieving.  "Just ask next time, babe," he said casually.

Charley's temper rose. She brandished the wrench in front of him.  "Vinnie, I..."

"Hey, thanks! That's the one I was looking for!" Vinnie snatched the wrench from her hand. "And if you find a three-eighths socket, let me know."

"Rrrrrrrr!" growled Charley. Suitable words just wouldn't come to mind. Vinnie appeared completely oblivious to her rage, as usual. She gave up, and went in to get a coffee.

One steaming brew later, she was still seething. Maybe coffee hadn't been such a good idea, after all. She sighed. She loved her Martian friends, but they just had a knack of making her feel like a helpless woman. Especially a certain white-furred...her thoughts spiralled off again. She banged a clenched fist on the table. If only he wasn't so...so....

"Is this a bad time, Beautiful?"

"Yes," snapped Charley, then turned to apologise. "Sorry, Stoke. I'm just...well, I mean..." she fumbled, not knowing how to explain her frustration. Stoker looked at her blankly and she sighed. He was, after all, just another Martian male. He wouldn't understand.

"Don't worry about it," she said, smiling. "What did you want?"

"I came in to tell you that we've got a plan. Well, almost a plan," he said. He pulled out the chair beside her and dropped into it. His gaze wandered from her eyes to her hair and Charley felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

"So what is it?" she said casually, to distract him from his scrutiny.

"Hmm? Oh, we're going to ride in and see what Limburger's got lying around in the lab that we can use."

Charley stared at him, her jaw drooping. "Are you serious? That's your plan?"

"I did say almost," he said, eyes twinkling. "Some of the best plans are all improvisation."

Charley threw her hands in the air. "Where have I heard that before? Let me guess; improvisation is standard operating procedure?"

"I see you're well versed in FF tactics."

"I've had a little exposure to them, yes," she said dryly. "Well, good luck."

Stoker looked surprised. "You're not coming?"  Stoker leaned forward and took her hand in his. "Charley, we need you.  You're the genius with circuitry. You have to tell us what to take.  I just assumed you would be coming. But if you don't want to, we can set up a radio link..."

"No, no, it's not that," said Charley, smiling. _We need you, he said._ "I'm ready and willing."

"Thanks, Beautiful," Stoker said, leaning back in his chair and looking relieved. "We couldn't pull this one off without you."

Charley noted that he still held her hand in his. Her fingers twitched.

Stoker glanced down at her hand. Smiling, he brought Charley's hand to his lips, but at the last minute, turned it over. He kissed her palm softly. Startled, Charley looked into a pair of red-brown eyes shining with mischief. Butterflies danced in her stomach as her fingers brushed his whiskers before he slowly drew her hand away. Stoker squeezed her fingers gently before releasing her hand, never once taking his eyes from hers. Still smiling, he stood and walked out of the kitchen.

Charley placed her fingers over her mouth, heart fluttering, still feeling his lips on her palm and his soft fur under her fingers.  "_You rogue_," she thought, grinning to herself. Still grinning, she stood, placed her coffee cup in the sink and walked into the garage where Modo and Stoker were arguing with Rimfire.

"No, you CAN'T come!" snapped Modo.

"Hey, I can still ride! I'll be fine!"

"Yeah, but you can't WALK," said Stoker. "You'd be great, lurching down the corridors on those things," he pointed at the crutches. "You're staying here and that's an order."

"Damn it!" Rimfire snapped.

"Language!" said Modo, clipping him across the ear. "There's a lady present."

Everyone looked at Charley and she felt, again, like a penguin in a pack of polar bears.

"Just stay here, kid," said Stoker, patting Rimfire's shoulder. "If we get into trouble, we'll radio and you can hear our last, agonised screams."

Rimfire gave him a dirty look. "Oh, that really makes me feel better."

Stoker turned away, grinning, and looked at the bikes. "Okay, how are we going to organise this?"

"You can take my bike, Stoke," Charley said as the boys dashed for their rides.

"Only if you ride with me, Beautiful." Stoker hopped on the bike and held out a courteous hand for Charley as she slid in behind him.

Vinnie groaned and rolled his eyes. "_Oh please_," he muttered.

"Whoa, hang on," Throttle said, frowning. "I don't know about this. It's dangerous in there. A fight's no place for a w-- a civilian."

Stoker leaned across, grabbed Throttle's bandana and jerked the tan mouse close.  "I'd like to hear you say that in front of Carbine and live to tell the tale."

"Yeah, but, uh..." stuttered Throttle.

Stoker released him and wrapped his metal tail firmly around Charley's waist.  "Ready, Beautiful?"

"Let's go," said Charley.


	3. Hi honey, how was your day?

"Looks quiet," said Throttle, scanning Limburger Tower through his helmet visor. "A bit of activity on the ground floor, but not much above."

"No problem there. We'll make our own entrance. Let's go!" Vinnie revved his engine, eager for action.

"What's that heat source upstairs?" said Stoker. Helmet-less, he was looking through a pair of infra-red binoculars that Charley had found useful on occasion. He passed them to her. "Sixth floor."

Charley scanned the area with the binoculars. There was definitely a large heat source in that area; almost the entire floor glowed.

"No idea, coach," said Throttle. Charley saw him fiddle with his visor controls. "I'm not getting anything specific. It shouldn't be a problem though; that's two floors down from the labs."

Stoker nodded. "Alright then. The plan is; we go in, drop Charley off in the labs, make a lot of noise to distract the goons and leave when Charley has all she needs. Any problems?"

"Nope."

"Uh-uh."

"Sounds fine to me."

Charley sighed. "Can we be a little more specific? What, exactly, am I looking for?"

Stoker patted her knee. "Whatever you need to build us a transmitter that will reach Mars, Beautiful. Everyone ready?" he said, slipping his helmet back on.

"Already gone!" yelled Vinnie, leaping Sweetheart off the building and straight for Limburger Tower. Throttle and Modo followed close behind.

Stoker took a nanosecond to make sure Charley was secure and then they too were diving towards the remains of a plate glass window that Vinnie had shattered with his entrance. Charley had a moment to reflect on Martian battle plans, or lack thereof, before the two of them landed on the glass-strewn floor and skidded across the carpet.  Stoker flung the bike upright and charged through the remains of some doors into a long hallway.  Shouts and explosions could be heard at the end of the corridor and she saw a wall disintegrate in front of her.

Stoker guided the bike down two uncomfortable flights of stairs and they burst into the laboratory and skidded to a halt, sending benches full of glassware dashing against the wall in a silver wave of shards. A white-coated figure at the far end of the lab shrieked and scurried out of the door.

"Karbunkle!" Stoker snarled. "Payback time!" He flipped the metal tail from around Charley's waist and she hopped off hastily to avoid the lashing metal appendage. Stoker tore after the mad scientist, bursting through the remains of the western wall without a backward glance.  Charley spared a moment to pray for her bike.

Sighing, she looked around at what was left of the lab, and spotted a computer in the corner. _Now there's a good place to start._

"AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO AH HA HA HA HA!" shrieked Vinnie as he blasted the table covering a group of goons. Exposed, they fled with hands over their heads as protection from the falling debris caused by Modo blowing a large hole in the ceiling.

Throttle paused in his pursuit of a goon squad to scan the battlefield.  Goons were appearing in great numbers, and leaving almost as fast under heavy bombardment. This should be distraction enough; no-one would be able to go upstairs through this war zone. A noise made him turn his head, just in time to see Stoker explode through a wall to his left. The older mouse slid to a halt beside him and looked around.

"Where's Karbunkle?"

"Never saw him," said Throttle, grinning. "Did ya lose him?"

"Slimy blasted sandsquid, he's given me the slip." Stoker slipped off his helmet and the two of them watched Vinnie and Modo enjoying themselves. Stoker leaned back and stretched, joints popping. "Good to do some straight fighting for a change."

"Yeah," said Throttle, turning to blast a goon staggering in with a rocket launcher. "Really irons out the kinks in your tail."

Stoker nodded in agreement, watching the fight with a thoughtful expression. Suddenly he stiffened. Throttle followed his gaze to see Karbunkle dash down a corridor on the other side of the battle.

"Woohoo! Gotcha now, you slime-sucking scum! Cover me bro!" Stoker shoved on his helmet, revved the bike and charged straight across the battlefield to where Karbunkle had disappeared. Throttle cleared a path for Stoker with his blaster, wincing as stray shots from the goons _thwanged_ off Charley's bike. _She's not going to be happy,_ he thought and chuckled quietly. _Let's see him charm his way out of this one._

"Heads up, bro!"

Throttle ducked as a goon went flying over his head and towards the wall beside him. Throttle leaned back and cocked his arm as the goon bounced off the wall and straight for him. One satisfying _thwack_ later and the goon was sailing back the way he had come. Oh yeah. This was the good stuff, all right.

"Yes! That's perfect!" Charley patted the screen. "Pulling your tails out of the fire as usual, boys." Grinning, she typed a few brief words, and a sheet of paper spewed from the printer to her left. Charley ignored it, moving across to the other side of the lab and rummaging around in cupboards and shelves. She spied a box on a bench and grabbed it, dumping the contents unceremoniously on the floor. She had half-filled the box with her spoils when the previous contents of the box registered on her subconscious. She walked over and picked up the device she had so casually discarded. It was a white, pyramidal object, with short legs and an oval aperture near the top. A mobile remote transporter.  Fresh from the manufacturers, by the look of it. _Oh boy_.

"Whoo-EEE!" she shouted, dancing a jig in the middle of the floor. "Rock and...and...and ROCK!" she yelled, punching the air with one hand.  She threw the device into her box and carried the lot back to the computer. What a find! This made everything so much easier. A few more quick strokes on the keyboard and she was done. Another sheet came out of the printer and she was reaching out for it when a hand came into her vision from behind and grabbed her by the throat.

Throttle paused in his pursuit of a pair of goons in a dune buggy. Something was wrong here. He looked around; yes, the goons were retreating. Nothing unusual there, except...what was coming instead? Vinnie and Modo rode up beside him.

"Alright! Boy did I whip some major-league tail today," Vinnie chuckled, spinning his blaster in one hand.

"Yeah! We showed them, alright," drawled Modo, resting on his handlebars. "Pretty good fight."

"Turn your engines off, guys." Throttle was getting more nervous by the second. Something was definitely not right.

"Huh? What for?"

"Just do it, Vincent."

Vinnie glanced at Modo, who shrugged, but they obediently turned off their engines. The sudden quiet was startling.

"And?" said Vinnie.

Throttle gunned his engine and tore off in the direction of the retreating goons. "Notice anything missing?"

"No," said Modo into his helmet mike, as they raced after Throttle.

"Charley's bike. I can't hear it."

"Oh, mama!"

Throttle burst through a door into heavy fire. He had a second to see Charley's bike on the floor before dodged left. "Watch your entrance!" he yelled, but Modo and Vinnie had the sense not to use the door and burst through a wall to his right.

The next few minutes were tight; Throttle had to give all his concentration to avoiding laser bolts. He dived under a missile and fired over his shoulder. A sudden movement to his left made him turn and his heart jumped. Three bio-soldiers were dragging Stoker towards a doorway. It looked like Stoker was making it hard for them, which meant at least he was still alive. But he was outnumbered. Badly.

"Heads up, bros! We've got bio-soldiers! Vinnie, take out those goons. Modo, you and I are going after Stoker. We've..." Another thought occurred to Throttle and his heart jumped for the second time in five minutes. "Oh no!"

"What NOW?" snapped Vinnie. Realisation dawned and Vinnie and Modo both looked at him, horrified.

"CHARLEY!"

Throttle swore.  "Modo!  Go get Charley NOW!  Vinnie and I will get Stoke!"

Modo nodded once and roared off.

Charley struggled in the crushing grip. She was turned to face her attacker, and she gasped. The thing was Plutarkian, but taller, bulkier, with dark, mottled skin, hidden in patches by metal plates. The powerful grip was cutting off her air and she choked and struggled, trying to breathe. A pair of dispassionate eyes regarded her coldly, and the hand tightened on her neck.

"Stop…please…" she whispered, but the thing only observed her, and did not let go. The edges of her vision were going black when a grey fist slammed into the side of the thing's head and she was flung to the ground.

Modo knelt down in front of her, his one eye wide with concern. "Charley ma'am, are you ok?" Modo wrapped his good arm around her and held her upright as she struggled for breath.

"What…" was all she managed to choke out between heaving gasps.

"Bio-soldier," said Modo grimly. "We hafta get out of here, Charley ma'am. We are in big trouble." He helped her to her feet, and led her towards his bike.

"Wait, Modo..." She staggered back to the desk and tried to pick up the box with her spoils. Modo grabbed it from her. She leaned on the desk. _Martian battle plans, oh yes._  Throttle, Vinnie and Stoker burst through the wall.

"Charley-girl! There's bio-soldiers, we gotta..."

"Yes, thank you Vinnie, I noticed," she snapped hoarsely.

Stoker pulled up next to her. He looked battered, but still smiled at her. "Ready to go, Beautiful?"

"Already gone," she said, paraphrasing Vinnie's earlier jocularity. She leapt onto her bike behind Stoker, and felt the metal tail whip around her waist. She glanced over to Modo's bike to make sure her box was secure as they flew down the stairs.

"What now, coach?" Throttle said.

"Your call, Rookie. This is your territory."

Throttle nodded and the four bikes fled down the stairs. Goons poured out of hallways as they passed, but steady fire kept them under control.

"Bio-soldiers left!" Stoker snapped. Charley reached down and pulled his blaster out of its holster. Her first two shots were wild; firing from the back of a bike was never as easy as they guys made it out to be. She desperately wanted a rocket-launcher right now. But her third shot hit a soldier, and she saw it stagger.

Stoker chuckled. "Nice shot, Beautiful."

Suddenly, the soldiers ceased firing on them, and moved back. Charley looked around to see the goons turn and run. Her heart lifted. The doors were just in front of them! They had made it!

"Hey! They're turning back! We whipped them!" cheered Vinnie.

"No we didn't. They're just avoiding exposure!" yelled Throttle.

"Exposure to what?"

"To that!"

Charley looked forward. The street ahead was a minefield of cops and cop cars. "Stoke!" 

Stoker skidded to a halt in front of a car, with two policemen crouched behind it.  "Is this bad?"

"Move your tail, coach!" snapped Throttle, as he, Modo and Vinnie turned their bikes and headed back towards the tower. Stoker followed them as the police opened fire.

"Projectile weapons? Oh please," Stoker muttered as the four bikes raced across the ground floor and blasted a hole in the back of the tower. There were fewer police cars out here and they managed to dodge through them and roar off down a side street. Bullets ricocheted off the buildings as they fled.

Back at the Garage, Rimfire lurched out to meet them.  "How did it go?"

Modo lifted his head from the handlebars.  "Ah guess you could say, it could have gone better."

"You said it," Stoker agreed, too tired to even lift his aching head. "What a day."


	4. Escalation

In the Last Chance Garage, the morning sun beat against the windows.

"Hey Stoke, do you have a three-eighths socket over there?"  Charley pulled back from the engine and glanced over to where Stoker was working on the battered faring of her bike. 

Stoker scuffled through the toolkit beside him.  "Can't see one, Beautiful.  Are you sure it's not over with you?"

"No.  Where on Earth is it?  I swear, if Vinnie's had it again..."

Stoker glanced around the garage but didn't see the tool in question.  He finally spotted it, half-hidden under a tarp.  They both reached for it.  As his hand touched Charley's she blushed. 

Stoker smiled.  "Martian women don't blush, you know."

"They don't?"

"No," he said, pulling her into his arms.  Charley looked up at him, her cheeks aflame.  "Which makes it harder to know how they feel.  But that can be exciting, too."  He rested his lips on hers, wondering if she would pull away.  She didn't, instead she reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair.

"So how do you know how they feel?" she murmured.

Stoker pulled away so he could see her eyes.

"You make your move and hope their claws don't take your face off."  He laughed at her shocked expression.

"We don't have claws," she said.

"I noticed."  He stopped further questions by pressing his lips to hers again.  A gentle snore drifted over to them from the couch.  Stoker pulled back and looked down at Charley.  "Why don't we let the pup sleep in peace and get something to drink?"

"Sure.  Soda?"

"Whatever that is."  He stood, still holding her hand, then pulled her to her feet.  From there it was easy to wrap his arms around her again and enjoy the firm texture of her mouth.  He slid a finger down her cheek and throat, marvelling at the strange, smooth texture of naked skin.  "How strange not to have fur."

"I'd feel pretty odd if I had it," she said, tugging on his chest fur above the collar of his shirt.

"Ouch."

"Baby."

He grinned and swept her into his arms.  She squeaked and grabbed at him, laughing.

"Shh," he said, "you'll wake Rimfire."

The both heard the rumble of the bikes approaching.  Stoker deposited Charley back on her feet as Rimfire started awake.

"Huh?" he said sleepily, looking around.

"They're back early," said Charley, glancing at Stoker.  He squeezed her hand then stepped forward as the bikes pulled up.  Charley cried out and rushed forward and Stoker saw the dark blood staining Throttle's tan fur.  Stoker calmly walked to the kitchen for the first aid kit.  If Throttle was still riding, he was all right.

"Just a flesh wound, Charley-girl," he heard Throttle say.

"Get in here, Rookie."  He glanced up as Throttle came into the kitchen.  "And take off that vest."  He gestured to a chair with his tail and rummaged in the kit for a probe.  "What disinfectant do you have, Beautiful?"

Charley eased the vest off a wincing Throttle and looked up.  "The clear stuff, in the bottle." 

Stoker sniffed at it, then snorted.  It would do.  He pulled a chair up and looked at the wound.  The bullet had punched a neat hole in Throttle's bicep.  There was no exit wound.  "Projectile weapons!  What sort of backwards, barbaric culture is this?"  He picked up the probe and glanced at Vinnie.  "So what happened?"

Vinnie leaned against the doorframe and rolled his eyes, his tail flicking back and forth like an angry cat. "There are cops _everywhere_ out there.  That slimy stink-fish Limburger has something to do with it, I'm sure." 

Modo nodded.  "Ah don' know how, but he's got the streets covered."

"Yeah.  You can barely flick a tail out there without alerting a cop."

"But surely the police aren't on Limburger's side?"  said Charley.  He saw her soak up some blood with a pad of sterile gauze.  "He's never used them before."

"Maybe he's not, maybe they're there for some _gnnuh_," Throttle swallowed and continued.  "Other reason."

"Easy," said Stoker.

"Like what?" said Vinnie.

"I don't know."

"Cover," said Rimfire.  "Old trick.  They can't move, we can't move, and while we sit, they're working on something."

"Well, we're working on something too," Stoker said, peering at the raw flesh.  "And you still haven't explained how the Rookie got shot."

"We were trying to avoid a multitude of policemen and ran into some goons," said Modo.

"And as we were restricted in the amount of tail whipping we could do," said Vinnie.

"...they got in first," Modo finished.

Throttle grunted and slammed his fist onto the table as Stoker probed through the muscle.

"Sorry, Rookie.  Almost got it."  With a deft twist Stoker flicked the bullet onto the table.  Throttle ground his teeth.  Charley rushed forward, all sympathetic nurse, and Stoker decided to leave her to it.  He washed the blood off his hands in the sink and dried them on a towel hanging on the stove, then watched Charley clean and bandage Throttle's arm.  "You should be a field medic, Charley."

"I've had enough practice," she said, fastening the bandage and straightening.  "There.  That will keep it clean."

"Time to get to work," Stoker said, tossing the towel onto the bench.  "Rimfire, you and Charley get into that communications satellite.  Modo, Vinnie and I will get the bikes into shape."

"What about me?"  Throttle poked at the bandage on his arm.  Charley slapped his hand away.

"You need to rest," said Charley, frowning. 

Stoker smiled at the look on Throttle's face.  "Good idea.  And while you're resting, you can do kitchen duty."

"Stoke!  He's hurt!" Charley cried. 

Stoker snorted.  "He's been hurt a lot worse.  Get moving, freedom fighters."

Out in the garage, Stoker was placing the faring back on Charley's bike when he heard her step up behind him.  He looked up into a pair of angry green eyes.

"A word with you," she said. 

Stoker nodded and gestured outside.  He grinned at her forceful stride as she stormed out into the alleyway.  He closed the door behind him as she whirled to face him, admiring the way she tossed her hair over her shoulders with a quick, angry gesture.

"How could you treat him like that?"

"Like what?"

Charley flung a hand up in the direction of the kitchen.  "He's hurt!"

"He's been a lot worse.  He's still walking."

"Stoker!  He was shot!  You pulled a bullet out of his arm!"

Stoker shrugged.  "We all get hurt at one time or another."

Charley snapped her mouth shut and Stoker watched, fascinated, as the colour rose on her cheeks.  She stepped forward and stabbed a finger into his chest.

"Do you even care?  He's supposed to be your friend!  How could you be so cold-hearted?"

"Charley, look..."

A crash from the kitchen made them both jump.  Charley stepped forward again, forcing Stoker to take a step back.

"And now he's in my kitchen!"  She turned and stalked through the door, slamming it behind her.

Stoker sighed and looked up into the blue sky.  "Wonderful things, women," he said to the unseen planet above, "but emotional.  Very emotional."  He winked at his red lady and walked back into the garage.

For the rest of the morning, work progressed rapidly.  The others seemed to be aware of Charley's mood and the atmosphere was subdued and quiet, punctuated occasionally by crashes from the kitchen.  

Stoker tried to ignore Charley's abrupt movements and concentrated on repairing the damage to her bike.  He was fitting the final piece of faring back on when Charley threw down the screwdriver she was working on. 

"Done!"  she said, running a hand through her hair. 

Rimfire picked up the small device.  "Nice work, Charley.  You should come and teach a few classes for us." 

Charley sighed.  "Thank you, three Freedom Fighters are quite enough.  I don't think I could cope with more." 

Stoker looked back to the faring, aware that she had turned to look at him.  He screwed the faring bolts in place.

"Lunch!" said Throttle.  Stoker looked up again as Throttle appeared in the doorway with a tray of hot dogs.  Modo, Vinnie and Rimfire made a dash for the tray as Throttle carried it to the table.

"Hey bro, where's the sauce?" said Vinnie.

"I'll get it," said Stoker. 

In the kitchen, he found the cupboard with food and looked at the row of bottles.  One of these, he supposed.  He pulled one out, opened it and sniffed.

"That's mint sauce, and I don't think even those walking stomachs could handle it on hot dogs," said Charley behind him.  He turned as she approached.  She reached past him and grabbed a red bottle.  "It's ketchup they want."

"Right."

"Stoke..."  she put the bottle down on the sink and looked up at him.  "I'm sorry about what I said.  Implying that you don't care.  I know you do, it's just that, well…"

"Don't worry about it, Beautiful.  I've had much worse bawling-outs than that."  He looked her up and down.  "Not by anyone as attractive, though."

"Oh, you-!" Charley grabbed a tea towel from the stove and snapped it at him.  He ducked out of the way and grabbed it, yanking her towards him.  When she thumped against his chest he wrapped his arms around her and looked down into her smiling face.

"Rogue," she said softly before he kissed her.

"Anyone else want a soda?" said Vinnie.  At the general chorus of affirmatives he pushed off the chair, drained the last drops out of his can and walked into the kitchen.  His jaw dropped at the sight before him and the can of drink fell from his hand with a clatter. 

Stoker broke off the kiss, smiling down at Charley, still enclosed by his arms.  He raised one hand and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.  In the doorway, Vinnie gibbered.  Charley drew a breath to speak but Stoker brushed a thumb across her lips.  Still smiling, he released her from his arms and stepped back. 

Blushing furiously, Charley glanced at Vinnie once before moving over to the sink, her back to them.  Stoker reached past her and picked up the sauce then turned and walked out the door, past a still speechless Vinnie, who found his voice just as Stoker stepped past him.

"You...!" he hissed, jealous and furious.

"You snooze, you lose.  _Punk_," Stoker murmured quietly, and laughed.

Stoker tried to keep a straight face as Vinnie stormed back into the garage. 

"More hotdogs, bro?" said Modo, offering Vinnie the much-depleted tray.

"No thanks.  I'm not hungry," snapped the white-furred mouse, glaring at Stoker, tail lashing angrily.

As he ate, Stoker pondered how they were going to get the satellite into orbit.  Limburger tower would be locked down tight after their last invasion, and the presence of the bio-soldiers made it a much more risky venture to ride in there and use his equipment.  Not to mention the gun-happy police.  Still, life was meant to be exciting.

Charley came back into the room as they were polishing off the last few dogs.  Stoker smiled to himself at the heightened colour in her cheeks.  He wiped his hands on his pants and leaned back.  The chair creaked alarmingly and he leaned forward again.  Flimsy Earth furniture.

"All right ladies and freedom fighters, we need to work out a sure-fire plan for getting back into Limburger tower, dodging the bio-soldiers, firing this satellite into orbit and getting out of there with our tails intact.  Suggestions?"

"We need a good diversion.  What about Bike and Pike 14?"

"Nah, would never work with those stairs."

"We could do a Tank and Bank 7."

"Yeah, very good bro, you see any tanks handy?"

"How about a combo of moves, a Brake and Take 93 with a Steer and Veer 21, followed up with a Tail-slinger 44?"

"Hey, that could work."

"It'll be tricky with the Bio-soldiers though."

"Wouldn't a Spearhead 9 be better than a Steer and Veer?"

"Why don't we use a Roddenberry 17?" said Charley.

"A what?" chorused Stoker and Rimfire.

"A Roddenberry, it's a transporter move," said Throttle.  He turned to Charley.  "But Charley, we have to get into the building first to use the transporter."

"Yes, we would, if I hadn't already pinched a remote transporter from Karbunkle's lab."

There was silence for a moment then Stoker leapt up, grabbed Charley and swung her around while the boys whooped and cheered.  Stoker deposited her back on her feet, unhooked the earring from his ear and pinned it to the shoulder of her shirt.

"Charley-girl, it's official, you are amazing.  Welcome to the Freedom Fighters."

"Why thank you, Stoker," she said, fingering the earring.  "Saving your tails again, boys.  What would you do without me?"


	5. Bad and I know it

Limburger stood by the window in his office, watching the cars moving on the street below.  The door creaked as it opened.

"What do you want, Limburger?"

Limburger twitched.  Such a lack of respect there.  He turned around and looked into the reflective faceplate at the pale grey eyes behind. 

"I see you have failed to bring me the mice.  Really, this is not good enough.  I understand you're new here, but this sort of thing just doesn't happen in my establishment.  You are costing me a great deal of money by being here, and I expect results.  You wouldn't want me to report to the High Chairman, now would you?"  Limburger smiled and tilted his head on one side.  "I mean, why should I pay for incompetent hirelings when I can get them for free?  You cost me far too much to be this useless...HUUURK!

The bio-soldier's arm whipped out, faster than Limburger could see, grabbed him about the throat and lifted him off the floor.

Limburger stared into the cold eyes of the bio-soldier leader. 

"Limburger."

"Zzzgt?"

"Your incompetence is legendary.  Do not attempt to intimidate me; it cannot be done."

"Ull...llrrr..rrr."

"We are here to bring back the mouse leader, Stoker.  That is all.  WE are not here to do work your lackeys are to stupid and too incompetent to do."

"Nnngrr-rrr, nngrrr."

"Now tell me, where will we find the Martians?"

"Gggnk" he rasped.  "Rrr...sczz mee...ndd...rrrr..."  The bio-soldier released his hold only enough for Limburger to breathe.  He cleared his throat. 

"My dear despicable bio-soldier," he squeaked, "what makes you think I would know the whereabouts of those rambunctious rodents and their loathsome leader?"

"Because you told that oily idiot you call a hireling to take some goons and hit their hideout.  So where is it?"

Limburger cleared his throat again and contemplated calling Greasepit.  He doubted the moron could do anything constructive, but he might distract the soldiers.  Limburger looked into the cold grey eyes and decided not too.  Besides, these soldiers might be able to do what his goons could not; destroy the Last Chance Garage, and possibly the mice and their annoying female companion.

"The mice are known to spend time with an Earthling female, the one you saw in Karbunkle's office.  She has a garage in one of the neighbourhoods.  One of my goons can show you."

"Very good Limburger."  The soldier dropped him and he landed heavily on his ample bottom.  "It's good to see you are not as stupid as you are supposed to be."

_You'll pay for that_, Limburger thought, and smiled.  "I do hope you are successful in your mission."

"We are always successful," he said, and stalked out of the office. 


	6. Saving Tail

Charley shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her.  A chill wind whistled through the gaping holes in the masonry walls.  The boys were busy setting up the remote transporter in the middle of the rubble-strewn floor.  Rimfire, off the crutches but still limping badly, was tuning the transmitter on the satellite.

Charley looked around her and a lump rose in her throat.  Only three years ago this had been a bustling department store.  Now the remaining walls were held up by scaffolding and piles of rubble lay between the few forlorn and abandoned service desks.  Ragged plastic sheets flapped in the wind.  It was a perfect example of how Plutark worked; take over the company, demolish the building and send the rubble to Plutark.  It worked so well that some areas of Chicago were nothing more than gaping holes and skeletal buildings.  She shivered.  And without the Biker Mice, this entire area would probably have gone the same way.  They were hanging on, but only just. 

"Charley."

She turned and saw Stoker walking towards her.  He took her arm and steered her to the left.

"You're making me nervous, standing there.  I don't want this thing to go off and send you to Limburger's collecting bin."

  Charley smiled up at him.  "Neither do I."  She felt his hand slide down her arm and slip around her waist.  "How long do you think it will be before they get your message?"

"It shouldn't be long.  We have patrols out now, in captured Plutarkian ships."

Charley wrinkled her nose.  "Ugh!  I feel sorry for them."

Stoker laughed.  "They call it…I don't know how to say it in English.  The place where you go when you die."

"Hell?  No, purgatory.  Extended punishment."

"Something like that.  You should hear them complain when they get a call up."

"Have you ever gone out on a captured ship?"

"Oh yes, once.  Hated every minute of it.  Everything I ate for days afterwards stank of Plutarkian.  I lost a heap of weight."

"Maybe I should go on one of these ships.   I could do with a miracle diet."

Stoker ran his eyes down her body and she blushed.  "You definitely don't need it.  There'd be nothing of you left."  He squeezed her waist. 

"Are you happy to be going home?" she blurted out.

Stoker blinked.  "Well, I-"

"Hey coach, hold this for me."  Rimfire hobbled over to them and shoved the satellite at Stoker.  He pulled out some wires and started untangling them.

"Rimfire!  What have you done to my transmitter?" said Charley.

"Nothing much.  I had to alter the transistor current, that's all, and the wires got a little tangled."

Charley took the satellite from Stoker and helped Rimfire to rearrange the wiring.  Once the wires were neatly tucked away, she closed the access plate and screwed it back in.  Rimfire keyed the transmitter on and the red transmission light came to life.

"All go, guys!" said Rimfire.

"Look out!" shouted Throttle.

Charley jumped and looked around.  The wall behind them was glowing red.  Stoker grabbed her and dived to the side.  She landed on him and lost her breath.  The glowing wall collapsed into a pile of slag.  Large, grey figures pushed through the opening.  Stoker pushed her off his chest and shoved her behind a pile of rubble.

"Stay down!  Rimfire, protect Charley!"

"Right!"  Rimfire threw himself down at her side and drew his blaster.  Charley saw Stoker duck and bolt as the soldiers opened fire.  Rimfire put a hand on her back and pushed her down as bolts of energy screamed over their heads.  She lost sight of the battlefield and prayed that the mice would be all right. 

Stoker ducked and turned, trying to avoid the laser fire from the bio-soldiers.  Throttle and Modo opened fire across the room and gave him enough of a respite to make it behind a half-collapsed wall.  He drew his blaster and checked the charge, then leaned around the edge of the wall to study the battlefield.

Rimfire and Charley were flat behind their pile of rubble and a bio-solider was laying heavy covering fire.  Throttle, Modo and Vinnie were behind cover and firing from three positions.  Stoker counted eight bio-soldiers.  A full squad then, which meant there would be a sergeant somewhere.  Take him out and they would have a better chance.  He ducked back as more fire came his way, then peered around the corner as it eased.  He fired at the bio-soldier's position, wondering how they could force them back, when he saw one of them cease fire and duck back through the door into the alleyway. 

He slipped back behind the wall and bolted towards the rear of the building.  He slowed and eased closer to one of the glassless windows.  The alleyway between the ruined buildings was dim and smelled musty and metallic.  He listened carefully for movement, but heard nothing.  He was about to lean forward to look out of the window when he heard the faintest clink of stone on metal.  He eased back and slipped to the next window to wait.  A minute, two minutes passed and then he saw a shadow on the far wall.  He raised his blaster and waited.  The shadow advanced another step, and then began to retreat.  Stoker leaned slightly forward, ready to fire into the alleyway.

Something grabbed him and he was dragged out of the window.  He lashed out and connected with solid flesh before he was dumped on the floor.  A boot landed on his ribs and he rolled with it.  He managed to get his feet underneath him and pushed into a crouching position.  A shadow fell on him and he looked up into the sergeant's face.

"Stoker.  How nice to see you again."

He dived sideways as the sergeant fired and grabbed for his gun, but his holster was empty. 

"Looking for this?"

The sergeant grinned, and kicked Stoker's gun across the alleyway.  He levelled his gun on Stoker's chest. 

"Dead or alive, Stoker.  I'm fine with either."

Stoker snorted, and glanced around the alleyway.  "Don't you get sick of all the clichéd bad-guy talk?"  He heard a sound behind him and whirled around.  A solid fist connected with his jaw and he staggered and fell.

"No," said the sergeant.

Stoker struggled to his feet but the soldier was quicker and wrapped thick arms around his chest, lifting him off the ground.  Stoker kicked out instinctively but the blow was ineffectual.  The leader stepped up and snapped force-cuffs on Stoker's wrists.  Stoker snarled at him.

"Save it for your execution, Stoker."  He pulled back and smashed his fist into Stoker's guts. 

The soldier dropped him and Stoker lay on the ground and wheezed.

"Get him into the transport and then come and help with the rest of them.  A force bomb should finish them off."

"Yes, commander."

Stoker moved his head and watched the leader move back down the alleyway until he rounded the corner. 

The soldier reached down and removed Stoker's knife, tucking it into his own belt.  He grabbed Stoker by the scruff and hauled him upright.  "Move, you!"

Stoker staggered along in front of the soldier until his eyes fell on some concrete, that, falling from a great height, had shattered.  He stumbled and fell across the rubble.  He moved his hands beneath him and grabbed a chunk of concrete. 

The soldier growled and kicked him.  "Get up!"

Stoker got up, all in one fluid movement, and slammed the lump of concrete into the side of the soldier's head.  The soldier roared in pain and staggered back.  Stoker pressed his advantage and slammed the concrete into the Plutarkian's face.  The soldier dropped to the ground.  Stoker dived on top of him and grabbed for his knife as the soldier fumbled for his gun.  The knife came free and he twisted, his cuffed hands making it awkward to hold.  He rammed the knife up to the hilt in the soldier's body and rolled away.

He leapt to his feet but the soldier only twitched once, then lay still.  Stoker leaned down and grabbed the keys to his cuffs.  He released them and they fell across the limp body of the soldier.

He whirled as he heard a clatter from down the alley and threw himself flat behind some rubble.  Then he swore silently for not grabbing the gun first.  The sound of boots approached, then the boots broke into a run.  He heard a curse from the direction of the soldier's body.  He risked a quick glance and then attacked. 

He had one brief glance of the leader's startled face before he crashed into him.  For every punch he landed, the leader landed one, harder and heavier.  He felt himself weakening.  He moved in close as the leader stepped back, ready to drive a fist into the Plutarkian's ribs.  His blow landed but too late he realised he had been tricked as the thick arms wrapped around him and began to crush the air from his lungs. 

Stoker struggled and rolled his head back, desperately seeking a purchase from which to push.  He saw an opening and struck, sinking his teeth deep into the leader's throat.  His mouth filled with foul-tasting blood and he gagged.  He clenched his jaw and drove his teeth in deeper.  The leader howled in pain, staggered and fell.  Stoker went down with him, grunting as the heavy weight drove the breath out of him.  He felt the hold on his wrists weakening and he struggled to pull his arms free.  He tore one arm free and grabbed at his belt.  His hands found nothing; his knife was buried in his previous assailant's chest.  The blood was running down his throat and filling his nose and he choked. 

_Go down, you bastard, go down!_  The soldier used his free arm to rain heavy blows into Stoker's ribs.  Stoker hung on grimly.  Slowly the blows weakened but he could no longer breathe.  The bio-soldier's weight pressed down on him.  He gathered his strength, clenched his jaw and tore his teeth out of the bio-soldier's neck.  A flood of black blood covered him.  He struggled to free himself, blinded by blood.  Finally he was free of the dead weight of the soldier and he crawled away. 

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and lurched to his feet.  Through a film of blood he saw the bio-soldier twitch and he launched himself onto the prone body, raining blows on his face.  It took long moments before he realised the soldier was no longer moving and he pushed back, blinking his streaming eyes.  The soldier lay flaccid, eyes staring at nothing.  Stoker pushed himself to his feet, staggered to the wall and threw up.  He wiped the bile and blood from his mouth and leaned on the wall for a moment.  He pushed himself off and went back to the other body to retrieve his knife and the dead soldier's gun.

As he approached the door to the building, he slowed and raised his gun.  The next moment two bodies flew through the door.  The tan one was easily recognisable and Stoker moved forward.  As the green face of the bio-soldier came into view, Stoker smashed his fist down.  The soldier jerked and Throttle pushed him off, struggled to his feet and finished him.  Panting, he leaned on his knees for a moment then looked up at Stoker.

He looked startled, then grinned.  "Going for a little facial remodelling there, Coach?"

"Yeah.  I thought the raw steak look was good this season.  What's the fight like?"

"We're holding.  Let's go!"

Stoker ran through the door after Throttle.  Modo and Vinnie were contending with five well-armed soldiers.  Rimfire and Charley were still behind the pile of rubble.  Stoker released them with a single shot at the soldier who had them pinned.  Rimfire dashed out immediately and began firing at the remaining soldiers.

But the Plutarkians were better trained than that and they quickly retreated into a secure position.  Stoker cursed.  The longer the fight went on, the more chance of injury, or death.  To his horror, he saw Charley dash across the battlefield.  At the same time, Rimfire fell and a soldier raised his weapon to fire.

Timed slowed as the adrenalin kicked in.  He saw Throttle drop to one knee and aim for the soldier who had Rimfire pinned.  Charley shrieked his name and he saw the satellite arc though the air towards the soldiers.  Comprehension dawned and he dived for the transporter.  As the satellite fell, he pressed the button on the transporter.

"Bye," said Stoker, as the blue light from the remote transporter engulfed the four bio-soldiers and they, the satellite and a large chunk of wall and scaffolding disappeared from sight.  Stoker got to his feet and walked over to Rimfire.

Rimfire pushed himself up and glared at Stoker.  "Do you think you could cut it a little closer next time?" he said in a peeved tone.

"I'll do my best," said Stoker, giving Rimfire a hand up.  "I'm always willing to please."  The scaffolding around them creaked.  "I think it's time we left."

"Good idea," said Rimfire. 

The five mice and Charley bolted from the building and it collapsed behind them in a cloud of dust and concrete shards.  Throttle looked at the pile of rubble.

"Remind me to try that on Limburger Tower sometime."


	7. I Hate Goodbyes

The victory celebration was in full swing when the communications unit crackled to life.

"FF19 to Stoker, FF19 to Stoker, come in Stoker."

Stoker opened the channel.  "This is Stoker.  Where are you?"

"Say again all after?"

Stoker fiddled with the dials. "This is Stoker.  Do you read me?"

"All clear, coach."

"Where are you?"

"Coming in over the heliopause.  Should be there in about 4 hours."

"I read you.  We'll be ready."  He snapped off the line and turned back to the party. 

"Well, that's it kids.  Going home."  He saw the look on Throttle's face, then he saw Charley's.  He tried to smile.  "Hey, there's still a party going on, you know."

Stoker listened to Vinnie repeating his great save for the seventh time and watched Throttle out of the corner of his eye.  Sure enough, the tan mouse slipped out.  "_Sorry, Rookie,_" he thought. 

As soon as he could, he slipped away himself and went looking.  He stuck his head out into the alleyway but couldn't see the tan mouse.

"He usually sits up on one of the rooftops," said Charley behind him.  He turned to her.  The moonlight shone on her hair and gave her skin a soft glow.  "He likes to be able to see Mars."

"I know how he feels.  Although we're usually thinking about different women."

Charley smiled up at him.  "A women in every port, hmm?"

"What's a port?"

Charley laughed.  "A woman on every planet, then."

"Oh!  Well, not really.  Okay, maybe one or two.  But I'm a sucker for an independent woman."

"And I'm a sucker for an old rogue."  Charley teased.  Her hands flew to her mouth.  "Oh Stoke, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

Stoker smiled, somewhat wistfully. 

"It's all right, Beautiful.  I may not admit it in front of the kids, but I'm well aware of how old I am."

Stoker drew Charley to his chest and rested his chin on her hair.  He breathed in her scent; a strange combination of femininity and grease that both calmed and excited him.

"I'd be a better father to you than a lover," he murmured.  He pulled away and brushed his lips across her brow, avoiding her tantalising mouth.  "It's a good thing the ship is coming tomorrow.  Time for me to go home," he said as he released her and turned away.

"Stoke, I...don't go." Charley laid a gentle hand on his arm.

Stoker turned back, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her roughly towards him.  He cradled her head in one hand and pressed his lips on hers.  He felt her body jerk and then she melted into his embrace.  Her mouth was warm, her body pliant against him and her scent filled him, making his heart ache.

_Oh, sands._

Stoker broke off the kiss, breathing heavily.  Charley was trembling in his hands and he knew he had to walk away now or there would be no walking out, not now, not ever.  It took all the willpower he had to release her, to turn and walk away.

Charley had her emotions under control when Vinnie walked into the garage, but it was a near thing.  Her heart was still beating hard and there was a lump in her throat that wouldn't go away.  But she returned his greeting with a semblance of her normal smile as she cleaned her tools and packed them into the toolkit.

"Where's the coach?" said Vinnie curiously.

"Walking, I think."

Vinnie nodded, then stood in the doorway.  Charley sighed.  Vinnie would never have Stoker's smooth charm.  He just wasn't the type.  But there was something comforting in his uncertainty that soothed her jagged emotions. 

"Uh..." he began.

Charley made a non-committal sound, still tidying.

"Hey, babe, uh, Charley, I mean..." 

She smiled to herself.  He was still trying, anyway.

"Would you look at Sweetheart?  She's just not running as perfect as normal."

"Sure, Vinnie."  She finally turned to face him, and smiled.  He smiled back and she could see him relax.  _Everything normal again_ his expression said, but she wasn't sure, anymore, what normal was.  It wasn't brown fur and smooth charm, but then it wasn't white fur and ego, either. 

"I guess we'll find out," she murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing.  Talking to myself."

"Keep your tail clean, coach."  Throttle thumped him on the shoulder.  Stoker flung his arm around Throttle's neck and started grinding his fist into Throttle's hair.

"Keep your own tail clean, Rookie."  He looked over to Vinnie.  "You too, punk." 

Vinnie punched him half-heartedly.  Stoker grinned.  Vinnie obviously had a lot on his mind.

"And don't forget to tell Momma that ah'm thinking of her," said Modo behind them.

"I WILL Modo.  Geez."  Rimfire looked over at Stoker and gave him the "withdraw" signal behind Modo's back. 

Stoker snorted.  "Time to go, kids." 

Modo turned and thumped him on the back.  Stoker tried not to stagger.

"Y'all take care, coach," rumbled Modo.

"You too, big guy."  Finally he turned to Charley.  She smiled at him and he saw her eyes were wet.  Definitely time to run.

"Take care, Beautiful," he said, smiling.

"Take care, Coach."  She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. 

Stoker put his hands on her waist and brushed his lips across her forehead.  Even that made his heart thump and he pulled back and smiled at her.  "Goodbye, Beautiful."

Stoker turned and followed Rimfire as he limped up the gangway into the ship. The Freedom Fighter leaning against the doorway gave Stoker a wink.  At the door Stoker paused to lift a hand in farewell and then retreated thankfully into the ship. 

Rimfire flopped down into a seat and stared at him.  "What's eating you?" he said as the engines beneath them rumbled into life.

"Nothing," said Stoker.  "I just hate goodbyes."


End file.
